


the heart of me has tried

by revolutionnaire



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 08:23:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2060958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revolutionnaire/pseuds/revolutionnaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they meet at Ferrari's first team party of the 2007 season, it is Felipe who first extends his hand in greeting. Six years and a hundred and thirty-eight races later they meet again.</p><p>(Silverstone 2014. The first thing Kimi says when he gets out of the car is: "Is Felipe okay?")</p>
            </blockquote>





	the heart of me has tried

 

When they meet at Ferrari's first team party of the 2007 season, it is Felipe who first extends his hand in greeting.

 

Kimi takes it, and the strength in the little Brazilian's grip surprises him a little. Felipe Massa looks him straight in the eyes, his fingers tight around Kimi's own, smiles as says: _looking forward to it, team mate._

Kimi nods and his hands burn for the rest of the day.

 

 

 

Six years and a hundred and thirty-eight races later they meet again, but this time they are in different colours, Kimi back in Ferrari red, and Felipe in the unfamiliar white and navy of Williams. It doesn't really suit him, Kimi thinks.

 

 

  
Today, they're not team mates meeting shyly for the first time, but Felipe takes his hand again-- their hands know so much more now, there are so many more shared memories between them.

Only it's not a handshake this time because Felipe pulls him into a hug the moment he has his hand. It's not standard practice for them but just this once, on this one occasion, it's okay, even though he can feel it-- the angry desperation and the longing and the painful familiarity in the way Felipe's hands fist in the fabric of his shirt. For a second he worries the camera will catch it too, the way Felipe clings to him like his life depends on it. They're physically closer now than they have been in years, which is the only way Kimi hears the sad, strangled sound that escapes Felipe.

"Two hundred races, congratulations," Kimi says stupidly, when they break apart, a little reluctantly.

"Thanks," Felipe says, and his dark brown eyes are burning warmer than ever, shooting straight into Kimi's own like they're dying to tell him something.

But then Felipe is gone, snapped up by another pocket of people who want to give him their congratulations and warm wishes. Kimi is left alone to stare at his small, strong back, shining and alight today with happiness. Felipe, glowing and gracious, looks like he was born to be the center of attention, like he was born to be a world champion.

Kimi hangs back and regards him miserably, feeling strangely alone in the sea of guests and cameras and journalists. Kimi usually loves the big parties, loves having all the drivers and crew and their children around. But not today. It's a strange feeling. He's not used to this, seeing Felipe away from their own safe private moments, thrust into the spotlight and so obviously beloved by so many more than just him. He's being selfish, yeah, but he doesn't care. He wants Felipe alone. _Wants_ him, god. He wants him, god he wants--

\--Felipe next to him.

He doesn't expect it when Felipe slips into the empty seat beside him at the bar.

"Hey," Felipe says, signalling the bartender for a drink before he lets out a long, deliberate sigh, pressing the pads of his fingers into his eyes. It's only when Kimi looks at him he sees the weariness in his face, something like trepidation that's dulling the brightness in his eyes, sapping the colour from his cheeks.

"You okay?" Kimi tries, suddenly concerned.

Felipe sidles in a little closer, drink now in hand, and Kimi's entire body itches, because now, away from the cameras, it's too easy to dip his head and kiss him, to slip an arm around Felipe's narrow waist and love him in the way he hasn't been able to for four years, four whole bloody years.

God knows he wants to.

"A litte bit tired," Felipe says, smiling wanly up at Kimi. They're sitting so close now their shoulders are touching, and Kimi hadn't realised just how much he'd missed the familiar warmth, the reassuring physical presence of Felipe next to him. "Big party for two hundred races."

He puts an arm around Felipe, just a normal friendly gesture not out of the ordinary at a celebration party held in his honour. Felipe's hand on his knee is a little less so.

"They love you."

Felipe shrugs and knocks his glass against Kimi's in a small toast.

"Love," he echoes.

"Love," agrees Kimi, the word still strange in his mouth, his tongue refusing to wrap itself around the unfamiliar, uncomfortable alienness of it. It's not something he says often, in English or otherwise.

They take their respective swigs and then Kimi leans in. He lets his hand linger on Felipe's solid shoulder a little longer than necessary, and then he leans over and puts his face a little too close to Felipe's and says, "Have a good race."

 

 

 

Later that night Felipe drags him behind the garage and all but lunges at him, crushing their mouths together as his fingers dig deep into the skin of Kimi's back. Kimi's wanted this for so long but he's never really thought about it actually falling through, never thought about what he'd do when it actually happens. Because now that Felipe's pressing the entirety of his body up against him like he wants to crawl into his skin, kissing him in a way Kimi's barely dared to dream about the last four years, he doesn't know what to do. It leaves him stunned and breathless, like a ridiculous teenager.

All he can do, really, is kiss Felipe back, and hold him, and hope that his hands convey everything he still can't quite bring himself to say. The words that have built up over the past four years have formed a dam in him but it's okay; it's okay because Felipe is kissing him deep and hard, as though he can reach right in and pull them out for himself.

They break apart again, painfully, for the second time this evening. Kimi brings his hand up to Felipe's face, strokes the skin he has come to know so well.

"See you tomorrow," Kimi says quietly, his fingers still resting feather-light on Felipe's jaw.

Felipe smiles at him and Kimi doesn't want to think about how much it's making his heart ache, looking at him like that.

 

 

 

He sees it out of the corner of his eye for a split second before he goes spinning into the wall-- the flash of a green and yellow helmet in a distinctive Williams Martini car. It tells him all he needs to know-- it's Felipe he's smashed into, and it's Felipe he sees in his mind's eye even as the impact explodes in front of him, hammering the air from his lungs and sending blinding white pain surging through his body. It hurts but oh god, it's nothing compared to the knowledge that it's Felipe, he's hit Felipe; Felipe he'd kissed just two days ago behind the Williams garage as he celebrated his two-hundredth race start.

Pain shoots through him again as the stewards pull him out of his car, from his ankles to his hips but it is his heart that is slamming so hard against his ribcage and out of his chest he thinks he might die.

He steps out of the car, and he's so unprepared for the angry flare of pain in his leg, it feels like the ground gives way beneath his feet. He's grateful for the steward's steadying arm; it wouldn't do good for the world to see Kimi Raikkonen collapse face first after emerging from a wrecked car. It's not like needs the added attention.

Dust and gravel have made it impossible to see out of his visor, he realises belatedly. He struggles with his helmet, desperate to get it off because fuck, he can't breathe and he doesn't know if it's because he's broken ribs or if it's just the panic that's rapidly spreading through his chest.

"Is Felipe okay?" Kimi demands, even before they bundle him into the safety car. "Is Felipe--"

He doesn't see Felipe's car around anywhere, so he must have hobbled off somewhere, must have made it out unscathed enough to drive away but god, Hungary. Hungary five years ago flashes through his mind, the terrifying image of Felipe's car shooting straight into the tire wall, Felipe unconscious behind the wheel. But he can't see Felipe's car now, at least not over the arms of the medics trying to restrain him in his seat and that's almost definitely a good sign, right?

"The radio, damn it," he snaps and the exasperated medics pretty much thrust it in his face. He grabs it, the ache in his arms be damned, switches the frequency to what he thinks and hopes is the Ferrari pit channel and demands once again: "Is Felipe okay?"

"He's in the pit now, yes," crackles the reply. "Race over but physically okay, we think."

Finally relieved, Kimi falls back, drops the radio and lets the medics do with him what they please.

Physically okay. He doesn't think about the first part of the message until later.

 

 

 

He calls Felipe as soon as he's allowed to leave the clinic.

"Kimi," Felipe, his voice a weird mix of relief and surprise, picks up on the second ring.

"Kimi?" he repeats, when he's greeted with silence. Kimi can't imagine the sort of thoughts that must be racing through Felipe's head now at getting this strange, wordless phone call from a driver that for all accounts and purposes has just had one of the worst crashes in recent history.

It's just-- It's just that it's harder than usual to get the words out for the lump that's building, heavy and painful in his throat. The radio message plays over and over in his mind. _Race over_ , they'd said. Race over. Race over before even the first turn and it had been his fault. Felipe's been through hell and some of the lowest of the lows of Formula 1, but if it was any small consolation, it had never been Kimi's fault, not directly anyway. Now it is.

"Sorry. I ruin your 200th race," Kimi manages finally.

There's silence on the other end of the phone, and then a long slow exhale and some muttered Portuguese. He thinks he hears Felipe thanking god, or something like that. He's spent enough time with Felipe to recognise those words now, at least.

"It's okay. It's the sport, no?" Felipe's voice is sweet and tender when he does speak. "Just glad you're okay."

The lump in Kimi's throat dissolves, melting sopping wet into something that feels like relief and pain all at the same time, dripping back down into his stomach like acid.

"Yeah," Kimi says and he kind of hates how he feels so relieved he might cry. "I'm okay now."

 

**Author's Note:**

> this damn tweet, basically.
> 
> credits: the brilliant [first gif](http://highlightsandflames.tumblr.com/post/28690544283/kimi-felipe)


End file.
